"Fine. I'll let him make an arse of himself," Harry finally said. "He's going to feel like we were laughing up our sleeves, though, when he finally figures out what I've known all along."
"On the contrary, you've made your opinion only too plain."
Harry put his hands in his lap so Snape wouldn't see them clench with frustration. "Yeah? Well if you agree with me, then why did you never make that plain, eh?"
"Because I know Draco. If he feels I'm denying him this, his heart's desire, it will only make the young lady all the more attractive to him. In that, he's no different from any other young man his age."
Yeah, Snape had mentioned something like that already, Harry realised. "So you mean you don't think it's a good idea, then, and that's why you don't want to drive them together?"
Snape's hair swayed as he shook his head. "I've no notion if this is a good idea or not. It may well end up hurting Draco terribly, as you surmise. What I do know is that as much as I'd like to be a positive influence on my sons, I've no wish at all to influence their romantic lives. I've seen, all too clearly, the devastation that that sort of meddling can produce."
Harry suddenly knew, without a doubt, that his father was talking about his own childhood. About Hostilian, and . . . with a start, Harry realised that he didn't even know what Snape's mother had been named. Well, one thing was certain. He did know better than to pry into it. Snape would tell him things like that in his own time. Which might well be never, but Harry was willing to accept that.
Some of the other things his father had said, though . . . those were harder to accept. "So you're just going to stay our of our love-lives, no matter what?" he asked, incredulous. "What if I develop a crush on some . . . er--"
He lifted his eyes and willed Snape to read the words in them. Death Eater.
"I can't imagine that."
Good point. "Draco, then."
"To be honest, I can't imagine that, either." Snape's voice went hard. "Don't tell me that you still don't trust him."
"Just making a point."
"I have to deal with situations as they arise," said Snape tightly. "My judgment as to Rhiannon Miller is that I'd be wisest to let Draco make his own decisions. Including, even, wilful ignorance if he so wishes."
"I guess maybe it bothers me because it's so disgusting, this insistence that she must be something she's not." Harry said after a long pause. "It shows just how awful Draco can be, y'know? There's nothing wrong with . . . um, regular folk."
"Something Draco will learn or not, as he chooses."
"Ha. Not with you around, he won't," Harry blurted. "You aren't as bad as him, but you do say things sometimes. Like how they couldn't write to the level of the average student, things like that."
"That comment was in reference to a particularly badly-written text on leukaemia, and you know it."
Snape's voice was tight, but Harry didn't let that bother him. "You do throw scorn about, though, from time to time. Not as much as Draco, not even close, but he looks up to you, and the example you're setting . . . um, could be better."
Snape abruptly drained his mug. "So you've said before. I'll keep your concerns in mind."
Harry thought that could have gone a whole lot worse. The exchange left him feeling generous. "And I won't try to convince Draco anything about Rhiannon," he said, thinking that Marsha had had it right. "Let him make his own mistakes, all right. Though . . . um, when he does find out can you make sure he doesn't do anything drastic?"
"Such as?"
Harry glanced around the interior of the pub, wanting to use words like hex and oblivion. "Mayhem."
"Oh, I doubt his impulse control is as abysmal as that."
Marsha had said something similar, but Harry still wasn't reassured. "Yeah, well, just keep an eye out, is all I'm saying."
"Are you somehow under the impression that I don't do that already? For both of you?"
"I know you do," Harry said quietly. The thought really gave him pause. Snape must think that Draco really needed this romance-fantasy he had going. Needed a break, after the kind of year he'd had. Almost as bad as Harry's own. Or perhaps worse, in some ways. It came to him then that maybe this was one of those times when negotiation wasn't going to work. Snape had warned him that there would be times like that, when Harry would have to accept Snape's decisions as final. All part of having a father.
Snape suddenly glanced over Harry's shoulder. "It's almost gone ten."
Harry jumped up, his chair clattering, and followed his father out of the pub.
------------------------------------------------------
"And she had a full course of Italian and French and German," Draco was chattering as they all Apparated back to Devon. "Not just the basics you'd need to sing parts, though she did say more than once that she wished her school had had a less rigorous programme in maths and sciences." Draco glanced almost apologetically at Snape. "After what Harry said at the pool, she thinks you're a science teacher. She really hates science."
"Did you tell her that 'science' is your favourite subject?" asked Harry.
Huh. Snape gave him a stern look at that. Harry hadn't thought it had been out of line, as questions went.
"I was more interested in learning about her," Draco said, his voice gone lofty. "And before you go on again about how her education must make her a Muggle, I'll have you know that she never had any way to know she was a witch, all right?"
Harry glanced at his father to see how he was taking this new delusion. No reaction other than a slight warning glance at Harry.
Draco was warming to his theme. "After all, you didn't know, did you? And all the accidental magic children do, well, hers was probably expressing itself mostly through her voice talent."
Harry had to admit, all that sounded a lot less fantastical than Draco's Bewitched nonsense. "So she's a Muggleborn, you think?" he asked, careful to keep his tone neutral. "I mean, if there was nobody around to explain things to her?"
To Harry's surprise, Draco appeared to chew on that for a short while. "Hmm. That is actually possible, I suppose. But I don't think so, no. She's got a patrician look about her that just screams pureblood to me. I really do think that her family's been in hiding since the Middle Ages." His voice dropped to a more thoughtful tone. "You know, if it's a family trait for their repressed magic to manifest itself in song. . . Hmm. If they dropped out of wizarding society so long ago, and used spells to tamp down their magic so that Muggles would never suspect them, they might not have realised for several generations that they're wizards and witches." Draco smiled, looking complacent. "I bet Rhiannon's aunt married that Muggle man because she didn't know any better."
Harry sighed, but tried to make sure his voice didn't come out critically. "So when you said that Rhiannon was talking about her parents being a different 'sort' from her uncle, she meant . . . ?"
"Oh, I read that wrong," Draco admitted, looking as though nothing in the world could dampen his spirits. He flicked his wand to light the fire, and waved the filled tea kettle over to hang above the flames, instead of whingeing, as he usually did, that "somebody" should make some tea. "She doesn't know she's magical so that wasn't what she was talking about. But we chatted quite a bit over our supper--I took her out after her rehearsal, did I mention?"
Harry was very careful to keep his expression blank.
"And she talked about her family quite a lot," Draco went on without missing a beat. Which said something significant, as he was usually more observant. "Her parents are these artistic, Bohemian types. Which perhaps goes along with them being so poor, I don't know. That's right," he said, suddenly scowling. "Her parents are short of funds. You don't need to act like it's a problem for you, Harry."